


Not Too Little, Not Too Late

by a tattered rose (atr)



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Discussion of Alcohol Abuse, F/M, Mention of Drug Abuse, small rage out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27549259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atr/pseuds/a%20tattered%20rose
Summary: "He threw up when he found out she had a boyfriend."Frankie wasn't the only one to notice Jeff has a problem.  Set sometime in s6.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Jeff Winger
Comments: 16
Kudos: 57





	Not Too Little, Not Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to write something else but I got this instead. Nostalgia trip back to when little oneshots were all I did.

He threw up when he found out she had a boyfriend.

Of course he didn't throw up _because_ he found out she had a boyfriend, that was merely a correlation. The not-implied causation being the two glasses of scotch he'd had for breakfast. Crappy scotch, because no way in hell he'd disrespect a good drink by slugging it, and he'd only had five minutes. Granted there'd been a lot of bottom-shelf lately, even when he had all the time in the world.

He spit one last time and let the flush mechanism do its thing. The one benefit of liquid meals was that expelling them wasn't as gross as the experience could be. Mere acid and bile and bad-scotch-made-worse. He'd survive.

As soon as he'd shouldered out of the stall he turned and shouldered right back in.

“Jeff.”

“Seriously? One of these days one of you are going to drop in and see something you really don't want to see.”

Annie was silent for a moment. “You ran out pretty abruptly, we wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“We? How many of you are out there?”

“Just me.”

He pondered the bowl, but his stomach's grumble was an empty threat. Much like all of the ones he could think of to throw at Annie.

“Are you?” floated her voice.

“Am I what?”

“Okay?”

“Well I'm not pregnant, if that's what you're worried about.” Resting his forehead against the cool tile, he swallowed against the horrifying image of _Annie_ pregnant. 

Her next words came from much closer. “I have mouthwash in my purse,” like she was coaxing a halitosis-ridden puppy from beneath a sofa.

Giving in to the inevitable – it's not like he ever expected she would leave, and he'd have to face her eventually – he left his refuge and snagged the bottle. Swished, spit, and waited for the repeated charge that, this time, he didn't think he had it in him to dodge.

“You know...” she hesitated and he hung his head for the axe, bracing against the sink. “You know you can talk to me right?”

“What's there to talk about?” he hedged.

“Jeff, I ran through a plate glass door in front of a roomful of people who only knew my name because they put “crazy” in front of it. I know what it looks like when someone's spiraling.”

He legitimately had no idea what she was talking about. 

“You're not trying to hide it either. Which is good but..” When he glanced up at her reflection in the mirror, it was startling to see tears in her eyes. “...But I should have said something before. It's just... things have been kinda weird between us this year and...”

The rest of that sentence was one he didn't want to hear. And yet he did. But mostly he didn't. “And it's nothing. I'm a little nauseous, I probably caught the flu. I'll just cancel my classes and sleep it off.”

“You take your students' pens because there's a minibar and ice bucket in your desk-”

So that's what this was about. Unaccountably, something very much like anger was gathering in his chest.

“-Duncan probably desensitized us, but you're not acting like _you_ lately.”

The tightness was spreading to his jaw. “What _me_ should I be acting like?”

“Like, I dunno, you're Jeff Winger,” giving his name a familiar singsong flair, like Jeff Winger was someone he should want to be. “You're the cool guy. You like to act like you don't care, but you really do.”

His hands tightened on the porcelain as tension rolled through his shoulders. “Well then. I'm sorry I'm not living up to your unrealistic expectations.”

In the long silence his breath grew ragged, something building up and he didn't know what but it was terrifying and a little exhilarating and he wasn't even sure if he wanted it to stop or use this sense of – power – to put an end to whatever little fantasy conversation Annie thought she could force him into. His life was his life, whatever rights she had, that he'd given her, she'd just thrown back in his face.

Hard as steel, mouth set, he turned to tell her so, and confronted with the damp concern in her face he snapped, near shouting “Damnit Annie,” and slammed the side of his fist into the mirror.

She did wince, at his voice or sudden movement or the echoing crack of breaking glass. That was satisfying. But other than that one flicker she was still, expression not wavering, and the fight drained out of him, one great shuddering exhale as he dropped back against the counter.

He felt her eyes shift, and tracked her gaze to his right hand. Flexing it momentarily – it hurt but not nearly as much as he wished it did – he pulled away from her, crossing his arms tight over his chest.

“I'd prefer to be alone right now,” he told the floor.

“I don't think that's true. Hey-” she tugged lightly on his sleeve, and he found himself following the pull, dropping his arms and turning to face her, even if he couldn't look at her. “I know what it feels like too, and you may have it under control right now. But functioning can turn into non-functioning when you're not looking. And it's hard to come back from that.”

“Yeah. Well this is Greendale. Noone's functioning.”

He hated how defeated that came out. Hated it a little less when she slipped her arms around him and pulled herself close. Knew he should back away, but this was Annie, and he held her in place instead, dropped his cheek on the top of her head.

She murmured into his sweater “so I know a place?”

“Is this code for dropping me at rehab?”

“No,” with a little squeeze. “Just people I like. And I took over making the coffee, it's drinkable now.”

Not a suggestion he'd ever take kindly to. But... Annie. Despite himself, despite anything, he knew he'd follow her anywhere. “Don't you have a date?”

Her head rolled back and forth against him before resettling.

“You're more important.”


End file.
